


A Blaze of Light

by julietterocher



Category: Revolution Jennifer Donnelly
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, Sad, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julietterocher/pseuds/julietterocher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex's last fireworks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blaze of Light

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything.   
> And I'm sorry for this.

The sky erupts in a blaze of reds and greens. The two rockets I set up next are the last for today. I can hear the guards in the street below me. They haven't figured out where the fireworks are coming from yet, but they will as soon as I light this pair. Sure enough, as the rockets light, shouts rise from the crowd. A crowd who gather whenever I light up the night, but who criticize me in the day. I have to sit still until the rockets take off, I can't risk them falling over and hurting someone in the crowd. I may be a traitor to the republic, but I don't want to hurt anyone.  
The green flame lights the street for a second, and I can see where it glints off the polished silver coat-buttons of the guard's uniforms. They're close. I head away from them, away from the stairs. The rooftops in the slums are crooked, plenty of handholds. I scurry across the stales, slowing down as my hands and knees begin to bleed, leaving tatters of skin and smears of blood on the dirty stone. With any luck, it will be too dark for the guard to follow the trail I am leaving behind. In his pristine uniform and clean boots, he probably won't risk his dignity crawling after me, but I keep moving for another two houses anyway.  
I settle myself next to the sagging rooftop of an apothecary and curl in on myself to stay warm. In the street below me, the sounds of people and horses die down as they give up on their wait for more fireworks.  
I don't care.  
The show isn't for them.  
My fireworks are for a boy, a child, the boy in the tower. A scared child who France ignores. In this relentless march for the future, what do we do with the past? We lock it away and beat it into submission. One boy hardly matters to the masses, too busy with their beheadings and their marches.  
In the morning, when the noise of the street wakes me, I will head back across the rooftops, down the stairs, and home. For now, I will wait. I can't risk being caught. Not so close to the end.  
~  
I go out every night that last week. Stop eating so I have more money to spend on gunpowder. I know the battle is lost, that he is dying, may already be dead. But I don't give in. I get clumsy, reckless. I stop choosing rooftops based on escape routes and start moving closer to the tower. I know I will get caught now. It's only a matter of when.  
~  
I can hear the guards. They're getting closer. They're almost here. I light the second to last set of rockets and the sky bursts into fantastic colour. The breaking stars of light look like the sun exploding, and I blink away the bright afterglow that sears my retina. I set the final pair of rockets, the last I will ever send.   
The guards are in the alley below me, trying to find a way up to the rooftop. The crowds have gathered, the biggest mob I've ever seen. My final audience.  
I light the rockets.  
They soar into the night as the guards find the staircase I used to get up here. I think about standing up, trying to hide, trying to run. I haven't got the strength anymore. It's not worth it. As the light breaks into a thousand crystals of Technicolor starlight above me, I turn to face the guards. The boy is gone. And now, so am I.


End file.
